Young Truths (Young Series) (44 page)

My mother looks at me knowingly. “Why I never left him after you four were out of the house?” she asks slyly. I nod, unable to meet her gaze. “Believe me, I thought about it over the years. And I think he knew it. When it comes down to it, he was my husband, and I loved him. The thought of being without him for longer than what was necessary was terrible. Think about how those five years were for you without Samantha. Believe it or not, the relationship the two of you have
now was the same one your father and I had when you and your sisters were small. I doubt any of you remember it now. Anyway, I suppose I always hoped once his career settled down we might somehow get back to that. Over the years, we drifted further apart, but I still loved him with every beat of my heart and I know he loved me in the same way.”

I bite my tongue, really not wanting to say something stupid like, “if he really loved you as much as you loved him he never would have been fucking Lucy behind your back.” That is not a conversation I will ever be fully prepared for and I’m sure as hell not going to draw attention to it now.

“The point is, Matthew, your father loved you and your sisters. He had some unorthodox ways of showing it, but it’s true. I know you know that. What he did to himself was selfish and cruel and unfair, but nothing any of us could have done or said would have changed his decision. It wasn’t your fault and once you get your head out of this fog you’re in, you’ll see that.”

I want to believe her. Looking into her eyes, I search for anything that might tell me she’s saying this only because she doesn’t like seeing me so upset, but there is nothing but complete and genuine honesty looking back at me. Suddenly, I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders and I smile for the first time in what feels like weeks. “Thank you,” I whisper.

As though I’m still a little boy, my mother slides across the couch and pulls me into a hug. I rest my head against her shoulder and return her embrace, grateful to her for a million things, and unable to express even half of one. I don’t know how long we sit like this, but it’s not until I hear my cell phone vibrating across the coffee table that either of us moves away, both of us wiping tears from our eyes.

She smiles indulgently at me, nodding.

Clearing my throat, I reach for my phone, not recognizing the number on the screen. “I should take this,” I say quietly to my mother, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Back in a few.” I head out the backdoor before accepting the call. “Hello?” I answer, my voice gravelly with emotion and from lack of use.

For a moment, there’s silence on the other end before I hear a slow inhalation and I imagine the caller is smoking a cigarette. “Long time no see, Young.”

I stand straight up, my eyes automatically scanning the area around me. “Frank,” I growl.

“Good to know you haven’t forgotten about me,” Marone responds, laughter in his voice. “So I thought you and I might get together tonight once you’re done crying on Mommy’s shoulder. I think we’ve got a few things to discuss.”

“The only thing I want to discuss with you is how slowly I’m going to fucking kill you,” I say, my voice surprisingly even despite the knowledge he’s apparently seen me in my apartment with my mother. “What the fuck makes you think I’d want—”

“Oh, stop with the tough guy, alpha male bullshit, Matt,” he says impatiently. “Especially when I know in which rooms your son and daughter are currently sleeping. Cute kids, by the way. Well, Tyler and
I already met of course. Your little girl, though...”

Terror shoots through my body. “I swear to God, Frank, if you touch my children I will not fucking stop until you are dead,” I warn, torn between standing guard
outside and running back into the apartment to protect my mother and children.

“Your
children aren’t the ones in danger right now,” Frank replies. “I’d be more worried about your wife and the people she associates with. That doctor friend of hers... They’d make a cute couple, don’t you think?”

He’s baiting me. Trying to get my angry. It’s working. “Fuck you,” I spit. “Stay away from Samantha.”

“I would,” he says regretfully, “I’d love to, really, but I think she’s come looking for me. You might want to keep a closer watch on her in the future. If there is a future, of course...”

“Where is she?” I’m fully aware I’m shouting. “Don’t you fucking touch her!”

“I won’t,” Frank says easily. “As long as you agree to come have a little chat with me. You’ve got an hour; I’ve already texted you the address. You’re to come alone and not alert those FBI buddies of yours or I will kill you, then every member of your family, starting with your daughter. It’s your choice, Matt. Decide quickly.”

He hangs up and I find myself unable to breathe. He’s seen my children asleep in their beds. He saw my mother. He’s threatening to hurt my family, to kill them. “No fucking way,” I breathe, checking my phone for the address he sent me. “This ends. Tonight.”

For about twenty minutes now, I’ve been sitting in my car outside the restaurant where I’m supposed to be having dinner with Mark. He’s already arrived, of course; I can see him at a table through the windows as he looks around anxiously for me. I’m reluctant to go inside and I can’t put my finger on the exact reason
why. All I can hear in my head is Matthew’s plea that I put distance between Mark and me, and I think guilt might be partway to blame. I know I shouldn’t be here; I should be home with my family, taking care of my husband.

So why am I here? Because of a friendship where the other person has proven time and time again his feelings t
owards me are far from platonic? My mind drifts to the photos Mark allegedly has hidden beneath his bed—photos of me and my family that suggest Mark might be stalking us. I think back to my wedding day at Christmastime, and the photos that were mysteriously delivered and placed with our wedding gifts. Unless there is another person collecting photos of us, I suspect Mark might be behind that as well. But why? We’d assumed at the time that Frank was behind that trouble. Were we wrong? Is Mark a threat?

Naïve as it is, I honestly can’t imagine he’d hurt us. I already resolved myself to setting him straight about our friendship and the boundaries that need to be put in place. If he can’t accept that, then there’s no hope that he and I can maintain any relationship. Nodding to myself, I reach for the handle of the car door to open it. My phone buzzes, alerting me of a text message and I automatically glance down, feeling my eyes widen when I see Matthew has made contact. Relief floods me when I realize he’s awake and functional, and apparently eager to see me. I take this as a sign that having dinner with Mark would be a really bad idea and that this is by far the last place I need to be right now.

Hesitating only a second as I debate the best way to handle the situation, I quickly type an apologetic text to Mark telling him I can’t meet him for dinner and that I’ll give him a call tomorrow, then start my car again to head back home. I almost feel like a teenager excited for a date. I want to see my husband smile again and hear his laugh and feel the warmth and love in his voice when he speaks to me. I missed him, which is a little ridiculous considering we haven’t really been separated. Though I suppose, in a way, we have since mentally, he’s been on another planet recently.

Finally
, I make it home and practically run to the door and open it, expecting to find Matthew in the living room, possibly playing with the kids. Then I realize with a surprised jolt it’s far later than I thought and past their bedtime. The only person I find upon immediate search is Diane curled on the couch nursing a cup of tea and reading a book. My happiness and relief fade, leaving only sadness at the thought that Matthew has already retreated from me again.

“Oh, there you are, dear,” Diane says, smiling warmly. “If you’re hungry, Matty ordered pizza for dinner.”

“Has he gone back upstairs?” I ask, glancing up towards our bedroom.

Her brow furrows. “No, he went out,” she informs me. The surprise in my expression must prompt her to explain. “He was up for a few hours and we all had dinner, then he and I had a long overdue conversation. I think he was probably waiting for you to get home, but he got a phone call and the next thing I knew, he was leaving. He seemed troubled, but when I asked, he wouldn’t tell me where he was going or why.”

Now I’m confused. “He just... left?” I check. She nods. “Any idea who called him?”

“No, sorry. He stepped outside to talk.”

The first thought in my mind is that he somehow found out about my dinner with Mark and has gone to the restaurant to drag me back home and beat the crap out of my dinner companion. Then I realize that’s ridiculous and while Matthew would react negatively if I actually had dinner with Mark, he’d be more likely to wait until I came home before letting his displeasure be known. He wouldn’t beat the crap out of Mark until he at least heard my side of things first. Next I wonder what it might be that would take him away from his home and children when it’s been so long since he’s actually spent time with them.

Smiling tightly at Diane, I excuse myself and head upstairs to our bedroom, already dialing my husband’s phone number. The call goes straight to voicemail, leaving me feeling disconcerted. He never turns his phone off. Hell, he has spare batteries in case the damn thing dies when he’s away from a power source. There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation, of course—he forgot to charge it when he last used it or simply hasn’t thought to change the battery yet. But I can’t seem to get the thought that something is really wrong and I need to find out what that might be. I locate Matthew’s laptop and mutt
er impatiently while it boots. While we were in Iowa, Matthew showed me how to access the GPS program he uses for those oh-so-helpful chips he’s decided we need to have on our person at all times. I decided it would only be fair for him to have one as well. His is in his wristwatch, just like Tyler’s.

I type in his password (tylerolivia) and find the menu button that lists our names, clicking on Matthew’s. It takes a few moments, but I watch as the screen zooms in slowly until a little red dot flashes over a location, one I know well. “What the hell are you doing there?” I ask quietly. The reason manifests itself a second later and I suck in a sharp breath at the realization. “Oh, Matt... What are you doing?”

My initial reaction is to call Marcus West to tell him what my fool of a husband has apparently decided to do, but I have no idea where Marcus might be or how long it might take him to get here, and by then, Matthew could end up getting himself hurt. Or worse. Adrenaline courses through my blood and I know I need to get to my husband, even though I have no idea what I’ll do once I get there. The look on Diane’s face when I tell her I’ll be back later is full of concern, but I don’t have the time to stop and explain. I don’t bother taking my car; the GPS told me he’s within walking distance.

This has to be, by far, the stupidest thing I’ve done in a long time. I only hope I don’t get there too late.

This is the stupidest thing I’ve done in quite a while. I don’t know if I’m just being reckless because of what happened with my father or if I really am an idiot. There is no doubt in my mind that Marcus will murder me when he finds out I’m here alone, but at this point, I really don’t care. If Frank has Samantha, I need to get to them. Already I’m plotting the slow, methodical death I have in store for Frank Marone and the details only get bloodier at the thought of him touching a single hair on her head.

East Coast Travel looks to be empty from the outside, but I have no intention of walking through the front door; instead I walk around the side of the building and locate the door. There’s no handle, but it’s been left open just enough that I can pry it open with my fingers. I carefully look around the large backroom, searching for anybody who might be waiting for me. It looks just as empty as the front of the shop. The last time I was here, I was with Marcus and the FBI was bagging and tagging crates that contained weapons, drugs, and money. There’s nothing here anymore. Not that I can see, anyway... I take a couple steps inside, carefully closing the door behind me.

“Nice of you to arrive.”

I spin around and feel my blood beginning to boil when I find Frank leaning against a pole in the middle of the room. “Where is Samantha?” I ask him in a measured tone. “What have you done to her?”

Frank raises an eyebrow and pushes himself off the pole. “Give me a little credit,” he mutters, approaching me slowly. “I haven’t done anything to her. In fact, as far as I know, she’s perfectly safe. She’s probably at home as we speak wondering where you are.”

Fuck... “You never had her, did you?” I ask quietly. Of course he didn’t. It’s not Samantha he wants; it’s me. The only reason he would have Samantha is if he was luring me to wherever he wants me to be.

“Nope,” Frank says brightly. “Off your game, Matt?”

“Fuck you,” I snap. “What do you want?”

He shrugs. “What does anyone want these days? World peace. The love of a good woman. Revenge.”

“Revenge for what?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“For fucking up any chance I ever had at being successful,” he answers matter-of-factly. “You and I, Matt... We could have been so good together. Rich beyond our dreams. Never having to work another day in our lives. You could have been a legend.”